


the end of the world

by zauberer_sirin



Series: Quick & Dirty [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Time, Quickies, angsty sex, post 5x16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 11:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Daisy and Coulson seek comfort in a new way.





	the end of the world

It’s the worst possible moment - she knows it - events accelerating to their terrible conclusion. Fitz again in his cell after they caught up with him, but the harm is done. 

“I feel responsible,” Coulson says, his eyes on the scar on Daisy’s neck. Too small a trace for all the pain she must have suffered.

“You were _kidnapped_ ,” Daisy points out.

They are sitting on a bunk bed in some forgotten room of the base. They are speaking in hushed tones, and they are sitting close, as if afraid of letting the other go too far.

Coulson tells her about what he found out from Hale, about the plan to infuse her with Gravitonium, Whitehall’s project and its codename Destroyer of Worlds. Daisy lifts her head, as if looking at a sky she can’t see through the sad concrete of the ceiling. There is both resignation and the opposite on her face. Perhaps she’s disappointed in him? Because he didn’t believe her when she said that she was going to destroy the earth and now all the prophecies are coming true in front of their eyes.

For a moment she looks like she is going to cry, but she doesn’t.

She kisses him instead.

Daisy holds to the laps of his jacket, because she knows he’s going to try to leave her again.

When Daisy kisses him he pulls back immediately.

“Daisy - what?”

She sighs, but she doesn’t let go. She knows Coulson needs comfort like she does, she knows he’ll never ask for it. And he’s slipping through her hands and she won’t allow that, she clings harder. Her hands start aching slightly, pleasantly, from making fists around Coulson’s collar.

“I’m tired of feeling like…” she frees one hand for a moment, and gestures.

“Like what?”

“Like this! Like I’m just destruction walking around.”

He nods. He gets it. He’s not angry, just surprised. And ashamed, like he’s done something wrong.

“And you?” she says, putting her hand over his chest. “You’re dying. Don’t you want to…?”

She doesn’t finish the thought because she’s kissing him again. She breathes fire into his lungs or any other of the millions clichés Coulson can imagine at the moment, or all the things in the poetry books he always meant to read and never did. Of course he wants to - he wants to whatever she is talking about, Coulson wants to feel that.

Things collapse and accelerate over the little bunk bed, faster than the end of the world approaches.

Hands, mouths, fingers. Daisy is ecstatic - shot through with joy in the middle of this tragedy, just happy to get this, to have this part of Coulson to herself, and realizing how much she has loved him and for how long. How _hopelessly_. How she never thought this could happen, so she never thought about it at all.

For Coulson is different; there’s a kind of awakening pain - the same pain he felt when they had to connect the nerves in his arm with his prosthetic for the first time, going through scarring tissue to find something tender. Like that but all over. Like that, but inside him. Something he hadn’t felt since before he died five years ago. Daisy wraps herself around him - hands and mouth and fingers. Touching each other over their clothes. She tugs at him until he is on top of her, trying not to fall off this ridiculously narrow bunk.

“Wait,” she says, a hot hand on his shoulder. “Is this…” the hand drops to his heart. “Safe?”

It makes him smile sadly - the cliché, a middle aged man afraid of dropping dead in the middle of love-making, but the reasons supernatural, it’s not his fault, it’s not Daisy’s fault, this is not a tainted thing. He covers her hand with his.

“Probably not,” he replies. “But it can’t be more dangerous than running around a Hydra compound trying to escape.”

She nods.

It starts again.

Hands, and mouths, and fingers. More purposeful this time. More hurried. Daisy’s joy turning to frustration because she can’t possess all of Coulson, can’t pry him open fast enough, her skin prickling because greed is so unfamiliar to her. He rubs the front of her trousers, juvenile and apocalyptic, unable to tear his mouth from Daisy - from her mouth, her jaw, her neck.

Their mutual, generous selfishness.

They tug at each other’s clothes but they won’t yield fast enough. There’s no time. They know it, exchange a glance about it.

“There’s no time,” Daisy says, pleading in a thick, low voice Coulson has no heart to refuse.

Even if he would like this to be different - but if it’s with Daisy how could it be anything less than perfect? - they don’t know if they would even have the chance. They have to take what they can.

She turns over and lies on her stomach. Coulson pulls her trousers down her hips and covers her with his body, reaching around her body with one hand so he can make her wet, but she’s wet enough already (all it took: hands, mouths, fingers, and the end of the world). There’s too many clothes between them, but that only makes the bits of skin and flesh they can share even more memorable. Daisy can only feel Coulson’s weight on her, can only feel his cock inside her, his breath on her cheek and then lower, until he finds an angle perfect enough to kiss her.

He knows it’ll be over too soon (and everything else will still be there), with one hand between Daisy’s naked warmth and the rough canvas fabric of the bed, the other arm under Daisy’s chin, serving as pillow. Her lips from from his mouth to his hand. pressing a single endless kiss to his knuckle as he finishes them both.

Daisy bites his wrist, and he groans. She knows it doesn’t hurt. It hurts that he has stopped moving, but at least he is still inside her, unable to leave, heavy. It hurts to think this part if over. It hurts to think about fighting again - she was to rest - but at least she knows she will never have to do this alone. Again. No matter what happens. He’s hers.

Eventually he moves, but neither are strong enough to pull up their clothes, to clean the mess, to resemble normal human beings and not a tangle of limbs, clothes, dirt and things drying on their skin, devotion. Coulson feels more tired than he's felt in years, and yet so disconcertingly alive.

On their sides, balancing again, tightrope artists on a too-narrow bed, Coulson’s arm still a pillow, Daisy’s mouth back against his again.

“I’m really happy we did this,” she tells Coulson. “Whatever happens, I’m really happy.”

“Me too,” Coulson agree, kissing her eyelids.

And then suddenly it’s not about comfort, or the end of the world, or their broken bodies - all those things that just precipitated it. 

It’s not about that at all.


End file.
